She fell asleep, with her cheek resting against a mossy log. She did
not know when Menard came back and stood for a long time looking at
her. He did not awaken Father Claude until long after the time for
changing the watch.

When he did, he walked up and down on the path, holding the priest's
arm, and trying to speak. They had rounded the large maple three times
before he said:--

"You did not tell me, Father."

"What, my son?"

The Captain stopped, and drawing the priest around, pointed toward the
maid as she slept.

"You did not tell me--why we are taking her to Frontenac."

"No. She asked it. We spoke of it only once, that night on the river.
She was confused, and she asked me not to speak. She does not know
him. She has not seen him since she was a child."

Menard said nothing. He was gripping the priest's arm, and gazing at
the sleeping maid.

"It was her father," added Father Claude.

Menard's hand relaxed.

"Good-night, Father." He walked slowly toward the bed on the knoll.
And Father Claude called softly after him:--

"Good-night, M'sieu. Good-night."

Menard lay awake. He could see the priest sitting by the door. He
wondered if the maid were sleeping. A late breeze came across the
valley, arousing the leaves and carrying a soft whisper from tree to
tree, until all the forest voices were joined. Lying on his side he
could see indistinctly the council-house. There were still the lighted
cracks; the Long House was still in session. Their decision did not
now seem so vital a matter. The thought of the maid--that he was
taking her to be the wife of another, and that other La Grange--had
taken the place of all other thoughts.

Later still came the buzz of many voices. Dark forms were moving about
the council-house. Menard raised himself to his elbow, and waited
until he saw a group approaching on the path, then he joined Father
Claude.

The Big Throat led the little band of chiefs to the hut. They stood,
half a score of them, in a semicircle, their blankets drawn close,
their faces, so far as could be seen in the dim light, stern and
impassive. Menard and the priest stood erect and waited.

"It has pleased the Great Mountain that his voice should be heard in
the Long House of the Iroquois," said the Big Throat, in a low, calm
voice. "His voice is gentle as the breeze and yet as strong as the
wind. The Great Mountain has before promised many things to the
Iroquois. Some of the promises he has br